Colliding
by Cheelalaucha
Summary: It seems that there are two sides to Karofsky's life. One's pretty boring and the other isn't at all. This is a look at both of those sides and what Kurt's reaction to the kiss meant for Karofsky.


It seems that there are two sides to Karofsky's life. One's pretty boring and the other isn't at all. This is a look at both of those sides and what Kurt's reaction to the kiss meant for Karofsky.

Rated T for swear words. There aren't so many of them, but there are a few here and there.

I do not own _Glee_.

.O.O.

Colliding

The T.V. was blaring Glenn Beck from the living room and the smell of garlic and mushrooms polluted the air all the way upstairs where Dave Karofsky was trying his best to work out some math problems at his desk.

He seriously _couldn't_ think with the horrible scent of burnt food wafting through his half-open door. More frustrated by his math than the smell, he abruptly jumped up and shut his door a little harder than was necessary. Math was screwing with his head.

He tapped his pencil on the open math book and tapped his leg in time with that. Everything was so fricking annoying and he couldn't concentrate for shit. Oh, and he absolutely _hated_ the phrase "Show your work with checks and be sure to circle your answer." Was it really necessary to repeat it for every question? He sure as hell didn't think so.

Karofsky quietly swore at his math homework and glared at it with _the look_ that he saved for someone who really ticked him off. From the first floor of the house, he heard his dad raise his voice in anger but his words were unintelligible. His dad did that; he yelled at the T.V. even though it had absolutely no effect whatsoever on anything but Dave's nerves, and that too made him want to open his window and chuck his book, pencil, and paper right out of the window.

He knew that he could finish these last problems if he could just _concentrate_, but everything was driving him nuts, the tiniest things that really weren't as annoying as they were making him feel.

"_Daaaave_!"

His mother's yell made him clench his pencil hard enough that he knew he could break it if he wanted to, but he calmed himself enough to answer.

"Yeah!"

"Dinner's ready! Hurry up, we're ready to eat!"

Dave felt his jaw set and he looked back down at his math paper and _almost_ ripped it up before he just decided to slowly and precisely close it and set it far out of sight – under his bed, where he'd stuck the novel they were reading in English.

He stopped just short of the door, remembering to take off his letterman jacket before dinner, and took off his shoes too which made him feel more relaxed. His school clothes just made him feel like he was still there, and that just annoyed him too.

He descended the stairs with his shoulders taught and his steps stiff. God, he hated that smell. He glanced absently into the living room on his way by and saw his dad in his recliner with his customary can of Mountain Dew beside him, a slightly wild look on his face at something that someone was saying on the T.V. Dave didn't break his stride and glanced away. It was the same sight that he saw every time he walked by there in the evening; there was nothing interesting about it anymore. His dad wasn't interesting anymore. That also annoyed him, but to a lesser extent since it was just routine by now.

Sighing quietly was the only thing that Dave did to relieve his stress when he made it to the dinning room, holding his breath as he walked through the kitchen to get there.

His mother was already eating, so he took a plate out of the cupboard and grabbed a fork.

"There's a cold one in the fridge," his mom said absently with a gesture in the direction of the sweating Coke can next to her plate. She didn't look up from the magazine she had laid beside her plate on the table.

Karofsky stared for a second and turned, without comment, to the fridge. He grabbed his half-empty Gatorade from practice earlier and brought it to the table and set his things down at his place. He was about to sit down before realizing that there wasn't any food on the table. He glanced around the room to see if he was just missing something, but no, he was right.

He said nothing as he grabbed his plate and fork back up and returned to the kitchen, trying his hardest to ignore the burnt food smell. He knew he was scowling while he used his fork to spear some steak and a potato, and he ignored the mushrooms all together. He also grabbed some steak sauce for good measure on his way back to the table.

"Obama, that jackass! You know what he's doing now, Celine?" his father gripped the back of his chair and roughly pulled it out to sit down. Dave felt his shoulders tense at his father's loud proclamation, but he made himself relax and ignored him as best as he could. He turned around in his seat to grab his chart of plays from the low table that sat in the corner. He had to look for a second since there wasn't enough light in the living or dining room to see by. Only the kitchen light and the T.V. were helpful, but he found it and set it on the table to study for practice tomorrow. He heard the familiar crack of a soda can being opened and he glanced up just long enough to see his father take a swig from it. He returned to studying his plays. He had the crazy thought of Kurt wearing his ridiculous headband and uniform and singing to everyone in the bleachers at a microphone on the football field, and he let out one involuntary loud laugh.

He immediately scowled again and his face went hard. He glanced up at his mother and father, but she was still reading and he was turned half-way around in his chair to watch the T.V. He returned to his plays more annoyed with himself than he had been with his inability to finish the last half of the problems on his math homework. His scowl deepened and he tried to concentrate on the plays before him that he really did _need_ to know before tomorrow, or he was going to suck at practice, him being the only one not knowing what was going on. He didn't do "What are we supposed to be doing?" very well. That made you look stupid, and he wasn't stupid. No matter what Kurt "Rendering Plant" Hummel said to him. He was gripping his fork so tight that his hand was turning red, and he made himself stop. Stop gripping the fork, stop thinking about Hummel, and _start_ learning the plays was what he needed to do right now.

"He's asking for more money! This guy is crazy. I mean, he really is, Celine, do you see what he's trying to do?"

Karofsky felt like he was made out of stone sitting there, trying to chew the overcooked food, study his plays, and trying to ignore his father completely so that he could concentrate. He stopped scowling at his playbook when he realized that he was doing it, but he just couldn't take it all in with his dad blathering on about political issues rather loudly. He snapped the binder shut and shoved it roughly back into the stack of papers and magazines and mail on the table behind him and just concentrated on eating so that he could get up and leave. He'd study tomorrow morning in his car or something.

Getting up, he took his plate with him and carried it into the kitchen. He ate over the counter a couple more bites and threw the rest away. He took his Gatorade with him back upstairs and shot a quick, "Thanks Mom," over his shoulder before he left the room.

"You're welcome, dear," he heard her saying absently before his father's voice broke in loudly and he continued on upstairs. Maybe he'd go for a run tonight to get away from the burnt stench in the house, and maybe then he could concentrate.

.O.O.

He remembered the day again as if he were in a haze of what could have happened and what had actually happened. Dave rested his head on the steering wheel and just stayed that way as he played it all back to himself in his head. Where had he lost his cool? Kurt just made him question everything that he knew about himself.

Trying to ignore Hummel was like trying to keep his eyes off of a train speeding toward a car on the tracks. In fact, Kurt was the car and he was the train. Once again, he shoved him aside with a jolt of his shoulder. Kurt was nothing but a tin car.

Every time, it was like a collision. The only way that he could keep Hummel away was to forcibly push him away when he saw him. Maybe then Hummel would stay away from him and keep his mouth shut, and he didn't have to look at him or think about him or even worry about him.

So, he took great satisfaction in keeping Hummel away from him. If Karofsky could just get him to stay away, then that was good. So, maybe he did go out of his way a little to shove him over, but every collision was a reminder to him and Hummel that they should stay the hell away from each other. One less thing to annoy him.

Hummel made him a little nuts sometimes; Dave would say stupid stuff when he was at all in the general vicinity, and his insults were always less effective. And he hadn't been joking when he'd said looking at Hummel made his eyes tired. 'Cause it did, it really did.

He was always checking around himself to see if Hummel was there, and it made him tense and exhausted after months and months of it. Actually being aware of the—of Hummel was more annoying than anything, but at least he was easy to pick out of a crowd when he either wanted to avoid him, or collide with him, sending him flying into something. And now he was done thinking about—about Hummel. And he was going to ignore Hummel's pansy-ass attempt at yelling at him from behind since he'd already started walking away.

Someone banged into the locker room, but he was used to that so he didn't turn around.

"I am _talking_ to you!"

Karofsky didn't react except to put something in his locker because, even though he knew that voice so well, and no matter what he thought of how it sounded, like or dislike, he was used to people suddenly bursting out in a yell.

But he wasn't used to people actually getting into his face and talking straight at him.

"_What _is your problem?"

"Excuse me?"

And Hummel had been asking him a direct question, being very to-the-point and serious with him. So he did what Hummel was asking; he told him what his problem was. Or he'd meant to.

This in-your-face crap wasn't something that he was used to, and he didn't know what to do with a direct conversation with someone he'd been trying to avoid, showing any emotion besides anger and "stay the hell away from me." Not even his dad got in his face like this, even at his worse moments when they would argue about how his father should get out from behind the T.V. and for shit's sake _do_ something besides drinking five Mountain Dews a day and screaming about Obama or politics or the state of the economy!

For being so disengaged with his parents, he couldn't stand Hummel in his space, screaming crap at him when he was praying that this was a dream – because Hummel was so close to him, noticing him, and actually talking to him like he was worth the time to talk to—despite his every attempt to keep him the hell away—he couldn't deal with it. He didn't have any time to think before Hummel was yelling crap at him. He warned him to shut up—

"Don't push me, Hummel."

But he wouldn't stay quiet, and he was getting backed up into a corner. He preferred slushies and shoving and taunts, he didn't want to use his fists and hurt the—Hummel. He'd mess up his face or something. Or worse. The—Hummel was so small, he knew that he'd do real damage if he were to punch him even once. And he didn't want to hurt him, just keep him the heck away. But he just kept coming back, walking down the hall in his clothes that made him impossible to _not_ be noticed by anybody. And not getting out of his way when he warned him to.

"Don't push me!"

Hummel got even farther into his face and shouted back at him.

"You can't punch the gay out of me any more than I can punch the ignoramus out of you!"

He warned him. He told him to leave him alone, to back off. Dave realized that he was probably the closest to Hummel that he was ever going to get. He knew that they were the only two people there in the locker room, they were alone.

He felt dread when he realized that Hummel wasn't going to stop unless he gave him an explanation or hit him. Hell, he might not even stop if he _did_ hit him. He didn't think that Hummel would let it go if he walked away right then into the crowded hallways where his yelling would carry to half of the school. It was hit him or convince him to back the hell off. He tried that, praying that it would work. He was half-pleading, half screaming when he tried to get out of the corner that Hummel had backed him into.

He flung his arm up at the door desperately and got right back in Hummel's face like he had been doing to him.

"Get out of my face!"

"You are _nothing_ but a scared little boy—"

And when Hummel didn't react at all but to yell more at him he did the only thing that he could do to get him to back off, explain himself, and ask the question that he'd been trying to physically shove away from him and Kurt.

He kissed him, but by the time he was finished kissing him that one time, he really only cared about the answer to that question. If he came closer again and Kurt Hummel let him—

He was shoved away and Dave found himself out of the corner, with his answer, and very clearly with his explanation. And for once, Dave found himself on the opposite side of the collision... his power gone.

He felt like he'd just showed Hummel more than he'd ever shown anyone, because he was the only one who bothered to ask, and it'd been thrown back in his face.

He slammed his fists against the lockers and looked at Kurt once, directly. That was his only show of the great many annoyances and irksome things that had made him so tense and mean the last year of his life.

He realized then that he had been so wrong. His first gesture at something resembling commiseration and understanding would not make Kurt Hummel like him instantly and fall into his arms or something.

It just made Dave wrong, and Kurt right. And his one-sided battle against his feelings, his family's feelings, and everyone else's feelings had finally yielded its winner. Everyone else won, and he lost. Everyone else, with Kurt Hummel on that side too, was his defeater.

He was on the wrong side of the finish line; he had finally admitted to himself and someone else – Hummel too, of all people, he wanted his opinion most – something of substance about himself, something true and something worth knowing.

And he had confirmation of what he had been praying was okay.

Was it okay for him to be gay?

Kurt Hummel... accepting Glee _guy_, out-est _guy_ in a three-county radius, defender of all things different... had just made his opinion very clear.

He had his answer.

No, it was not okay for Dave Karofsky to be gay.

He ran for it, leaving his pride behind with Kurt as he burst out of the room.

Karofsky banged his head against the wheel once. This had been the worst day of his life, and it was the same day that he'd kissed Hummel. His life just sucked.


End file.
